


strawberry skies, stars in your eyes

by louly23



Series: clueless yeehaw lesbians [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, College AU, Drabble Collection, F/F, GUESS WHOS BACK, Girl Direction, Internalized Homophobia, Mentions of religion, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, and as always, and if you think i missed something just let me know and i'll tag it!, southern-accent h/l because i have too much time on my hands and no self-control, very small teeny-tiny scene of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23306068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louly23/pseuds/louly23
Summary: I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ve always been in love with you.“I’m so glad you’re here.” She whispers, her voice barely letting her get the words out.Harry half-smiles in that easy, gentle way that let’s Louis know that she knows there’s more she wants to say, even if she can’t get the words out, “Where else would I be?” she replies in a tone that one would use in a church, as if by the event that Harry and Louis breathed the same air there, in that hammock beneath the trees, the scattered dirt and leaves below them became holy ground.Louis doesn’t have an answer, so she turns her head back to look at the sky, and slowly inches her hand to the left, fully expecting Harry to move her hand out of the way. She doesn’t, allowing the sides of their hands to brush, and rest ever so gently against each other, as intimate as a kiss.Louis closes her eyes and breathes this moment, sweeter than syrup, in....or, Louis has been told for to her whole life to be one thing, and Harry is the only person who lets her feel like maybe she could be something different.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Louis Tomlinson/Original Female Character(s)
Series: clueless yeehaw lesbians [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676011
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	strawberry skies, stars in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> originally this fic was supposed to just be bits and bobs of Louis Feeling _feelings_ for before she and Harry got together. it evolved into much more of a piece dedicated to how shitty i felt growing up gay in a c*tholic household. here's to you, pre-pubescent and young adult shan, it gets better. 
> 
> as always, thank you to every darling that kudos, comment, and click on my fics. 
> 
> (yes, i'm talking to you. did you do something different with your hair? it looks very fetching. thanks for being here.)

“Mama, do I haveta get married?”

Louis looks up at her mother from under the shade of her tiny, white-gloved hand. The sun is beating down strong for early May, and the stiffer, tulle-filled parts of Louis’ communion dress lift a little off the ground with the breeze. Mrs. Tomlinson squats down to her daughter’s height, carefully adjusting the veil on the top of Louis’ head so that it sits evenly atop her perfectly pinned curls. “Why are you asking me that, my sunflower?”

“Daddy said just lookin’ at me he can tell I’m gonna be pretty on my weddin’ day.” her big blue eyes beginning to fill with tears, “What if I don’t _wanna_ get married?”

“Oh, sunflower,” Mama murmurs comfortingly, pulling Louis in to rest on her shoulder, pressing a kiss to the crown of her veil, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Your daddy was just trying to tell you how beautiful he thinks you look.”

“Oh.” Louis says, sniffling, “Because I don’t never wanna get married. Not ever, ever! I wanna move into a pink house with white shutters and a wraparound porch with Harry, and we can have lotsa baby girls and raise them to be just like us.”

“With Harry?” Mama says, chuckling lightly, “Silly girl. Only mamas and daddies can raise babies together, so if you want to have a lot of baby girls, you’re gonna have to get married sometime.”

“Oh.” repeats Louis, rubbing her running nose on the back of her glove. Mama clucks disapprovingly and rubs at the snot on her glove, getting most of it off. “But what if I only wanna live with Harry?”

“You won’t,” Mama says in the same voice that she tells fairytales and soothes hurts and sings in the church choir; with so much truth in it that it rings like a bell, “There’ll come a time when you want to be around boys, and then you’ll pick one that you want to settle down with, marry, and then have all the girl babies in the world.” She picks Louis up and spins her around, and Louis laughs and laughs, the feeling of flight sending a rush of joy down her spine, “Trust me, sunflower.” Mama promises when she places Louis back on the ground, “No one wants to live with their best friend forever, and those that do…we’ll they’re not exactly _normal_ , are they?”

 _Oh,_ seven-year-old Louis thinks as her mother leans in close to kiss her cheek and smooth her mussed hair again.

_I’m not normal._

XXX

Louis Tomlinson is popping her gum when she sees Harry Styles pull into the parking lot.

She’s wearing her warm-ups; the faded ‘GO TIGERS!’ logo splashed across her tits soft and worn from years of sweat and laundry cycles. She can see Harry sitting in the front seat of her 2003 Chevy, the back of her curly head angled down so that Louis knows she’s on her phone, and is planning on staying there. Louis grits her teeth and snaps her gum again. She knows that Harry is probably wearing that big stupid denim jacket that Louis had gotten her a few birthdays ago from a thrift shop, despite the rancid Texan summer still lingering in the air. She wants to put it on, slide the too-big sleeves over her tank-top, feel the damp spots under her arms and in the small of her back, breathe in the smell of roses and patchouli and smoke and sweat that reek off Harry after she’s been burning incense in her room with all the windows shut, twirl around in it and bat her eyelashes at Harry in that way that will make her laugh and forget about their fight without Louis having to say she’s sorry.

The last few girls exit through the locker room door, a few feet from where Louis is standing. Brooding. Waiting. They wave at her as they pass, giggling and happy, their lives uncomplicated and stupid with their stupid crushes on their stupid boyfriends, and the smile that Louis shoots them is only a little gritted, but Louis is grateful that her shades cover her eyes where the smile doesn’t quite reach. It’s not their fault, Louis knows, but it doesn’t make it any easier. _Nine more months._ She chants quietly to herself. _Nine more months. Nine more months. Nine more months_.

She shoulders her bag a little higher, eyes boring a hole into the back of Harry’s head for another five minutes, trying to work up the nerve to make the walk of shame, swallow her pride, and be the first to apologize. She sighs and swallows her gum instead, walking in the opposite direction from the parking lot towards the sidewalk that leads into town.

She clips her bag across her chest so it won’t fall, tucks her shades into a side pocket, and takes the pavement at a moderate jog, not trying to kill herself after practice, but enough that it’ll take Harry a few minutes to catch up with her what with the 5 mph speed limit surrounding the school. She can practically hear the sound of Harry’s low huff of ‘Goddammit, Louis’ as she fumbles to turn the truck on and switch gears to back out of the lot. Her too-big hands missing the ignition a few times and eyebrows knit together in annoyance; and it doesn’t bring a fond smile to Louis’ face. It doesn’t. It also doesn’t make tears prick at the back of her eyes. It fucking doesn’t.

Louis wants. Louis wants and wants and _wants_ and it’s not right. Not fair. Not _normal._

She pushes a little harder when she hears the sound of tires on gravel behind her, sees a few cars roll slowly past; the burn in her lungs a welcome reprieve from the one in her heart. She focuses on the sound of her feet hitting pavement and ignores it when she hears the weak, almost sickly honk behind her. She doesn’t turn, even when she can see out of the corner of her eye that Harry is keeping pace with her now. She hears the window roll down, the broken hand-crank in Harry’s car squealing with the effort.

“Will you just get in the truck,” Harry huffs, annoyed. Louis doesn’t answer. “Louis. I’m holding up traffic, just get in the fucking truck.” And Harry sure is, a line of aggravated beeps and people swerving around her adding to the cacophony; Louis stays silent. Harry sighs, loud and exaggerated, “Fine. _Fine._ I’m sorry, okay? Will you get in the car now, then? Are you satisfied, you fucking five-year-old?”

Satisfied would be in Harry’s bed. Louis would take off her sideliners and her socks and curl up in Harry’s lap in her warm-up tank and sofee’s and that stupid fucking _jacket_. Harry would be wearing her coveralls with the suns and moons stitched on, and the denim would feel warm and thin and worn against Louis’ skin. Louis would tuck her face into Harry’s neck and Harry would comb gentle fingers through Louis’ hair, greasy from practice though it may be, and Louis would rub her cheek against Harry’s soft, soft skin and fall asleep. When she woke up maybe they would watch a movie, or one of Louis’ favorite episodes of Friends, and Harry wouldn’t ask for more than Louis can give, and Louis wouldn’t have to feel guilty all the time. It would be soft and gentle and pink and rosy and safe, and if anyone walked in they would just say that Harry and Louis were close girl-friends and nothing more. Friends who are girls, and that’s it. Gal-pals, even, because that’s what Louis wants, right?

_Right?_

Louis stops. Harry halts on the breaks, making them squeal. The last few cars behind her don’t even bother to beep, just swerve around the truck and keep going. Louis stares at her shoes, using one to scuff up the other, Harry sighs again, “I meant it, Lou.” She says, softer this time, “I _am_ sorry. It was a stupid fight. Was just feeling wrecked about school, yeah? I know college must seem ages away for me, but I just want to be ready. I get paranoid and obsessive, you know me.” And Louis does. Harry has been doing research for months despite the fact that she still has another year in high school, wants to get into all the colleges best suited for her future career as a writer, while Louis still knows fuck-all what she’s going to do for college except that she wants to be wherever Harry is, has only sent applications to the schools Harry wants to go to, has put off looking for roommates and places to live because she can barely stomach the fact that this time next year they’ll be living in different zip codes for the first time in their whole lives.

Louis sniffs as if it doesn’t matter, as if she doesn’t feel the hurt, and looks up to meet Harry’s eye, finally, “Yeah, I know. M’sorry too. Was tired and stupid and I took it out on you.”

Harry’s eyes are soft, and the truck is still running in the middle of the fucking street and Harry is wasting AC along with gas by rolling the window down and a cop could come any minute and ticket Harry for idling but none of it fucking matters, none of it will ever matter as long as Harry keeps those soft, gentle eyes and pink, rosy, _dangerous_ smile aimed right at Louis; who wants and wants and wants and wants and _wants._

“Unlock the door.” Louis says, hopping off the sidewalk and walking towards the passenger side.

“Already did.” Harry replies, taking Louis’ bag from her as she opens the door and climbs up into the seat, tossing it in the back.

They don’t talk about it, and Louis is so grateful she burns with it.

XXX

Part of Louis hates cheering.

She likes the crowd, the attention, the comradery with her girls. Likes the ritual, having somewhere to be after school and on Friday nights so her mom and dad can’t ask why she _doesn’t go out with that nice boy, Charlie, from church?_ Likes the outfits, the way the skirt flounces over her thighs and how the white and gold pop against her tan, the style of the high pony and glittery eyeshadow _. Loves_ the athleticism, loves competing, loves to _win_ , but. But. She doesn’t like the way they stare.

She doesn’t like the way their eyes follow her when she dances, or walks, or fucking breathes. It would be bearable if it was just the idiots in her school, because at least a few of them she’s semi-friendly with and can remind them that _“My eyes are up here, fuck-up.”_ and they stammer apologies like the good southern gentlemen their mothers raised them to be and avert their eyes, blushes strong and red. It’s uncomfortable, but bearable.

What’s _un_ -bearable is the men.

Grown men. Grown-ass fucking men looking at her like she’s a piece of meat. Fathers, husbands, 20-30 years her senior, flirting with her. Asking what she’s wearing under her skirt. Wondering aloud how the boys on the field can even play with her on the sidelines. Joking about how hard she must be working in practice because she’s _lookin’ so good_.

It makes her skin itch. Filthy. Dirty like that way that she felt after her and Harry used to go wading through the creek and then hike home, getting their wet legs covered in leaves and mud and bugs and scratches that would sting when the air hit them. She wants to take a shower when she feels their eyes on her, scrub her skin raw and red as if it would make the feeling go away.

(It doesn’t.)

She looks up and out into the stands now, smiling as she searches up and down the rows. She waves her left pom when she spots Harry, who returns her cheesy smile by bulging out her eyes and pulling a monkey face. Louis laughs, loud and a little startling, their gazes still locked.

There are moments that they have when Louis looks at Harry that make the rest of the world fall away. Even now, when they’re not even within hearing distance, all it takes is eye contact for the sounds of the coach’s whistle and marching band to fade out, the wet spots under Louis’ arms to stop sticking to her skin, the lights in her eyes to stop burning, and she’s floating through the air, weightless and carefree, and—

“Lou, _Hey Baby_ is next, right?”

Louis fights back a sigh and turns to Victoria, her junior co-captain. “No, _Hey-yah_ is next. Did you not get the set list Marybeth sent us?”

Victoria has the gall to at least look guilty, “I might have forgotten to look at it.”

Louis forces a smile, “No worries. Just make sure you tell the other girls the right one, yeah? And the JV so they can do the arms in the stands.” Victoria nods, eagerly spreading the word through the groups of gathered girls. Louis exhales, turning to look at the clock; 5:40 left in the 4th. _Thank fucking God_ , Louis thinks, resisting the urge to look back up into the stands as she walks over to take her place in formation as captain. She turns left and right to look at the girls, seeing everyone in position, and then looks to Marybeth, leader of the marching band, who gives her a thumbs up from the stands.

She takes in a deep breath, claps the girls to attention, and starts to dance. She throws her body into it, hips rolling and arms strong and feet pointed, and pretends she can’t feel their eyes on her, pretends her worth in this world isn’t watered down to what men feel and want and know when they watch her dance or talk or laugh or breathe or exist.

Louis dances and tries not to think about what it means when she doesn’t want their eyes on her, but very much wants Harry’s.

XXX

Louis jaw aches from smiling so much.

All the other girls at the party are taking turns weeping and laughing, Louis wonders how much of the punch they all drank, because Lord knows someone definitely spiked it. As she walks toward the food table she subtly avoids the eye contact of some of her older relatives sitting with her parents, all of whom will drag her into a conversation about politics and the dangers of ‘liberal colleges’ like the one she’s attending in the fall, University of Houston. She has to fight another smile as she thinks of it, grabbing a plate to load up some of the food her mother had been preparing over the past several days in preparation for the party. Her eyes start to water a bit as she looks at the literal shrine her mother had arranged on the table with the cake, pictures of her at every age and stage captured and lovingly saved by her parents.

She remembers most of the scenes captured, her and Harry swimming, their grins full of gaps from missing baby teeth, learning how to ride bikes together in matching helmets, both holding sparklers together on the Fourth of July.

“Hey,” she feels Harry’s hand on her wrist pulling her from her reverie, “Your Mama was looking for you. Aunt Mabe wants a picture with the _graduate,_ ” she grins as she says it, “A ’fore she moves to the big city and becomes too _liberal_ and _fancy_ to give us podunk folk the time of day.”

Louis snorts, holding back an eye-roll, “Fucking redneck republicans. Such a pity I won’t be home when we have to register to vote, my mother’s entire side of the family would faint if they found out I’m registering democrat.”

Harry’s eyebrows wag co-conspiratorially, “I would pay money to see it. Now come on, before they start burning witches or something, you know how they get when they’re left waiting too long.” Louis laughs as Harry pulls her over to take pictures with various members of her family, all of whom crow and practically beg Harry to get into most of the shots as well.

“Such sweet girls you two are.” Louis grandmother coos later, when the party has mostly died down and the only people left are Louis family and, as always, Harry, “So lovely to have a friendship last as long as this. It’s rare.”

“Aw, thanks, Gram,” Louis says, squeezing the older woman’s hand, already tucked into her own. Gram returns the squeeze and looks between her and Harry, “You still have another year left of high school, right, Harriet?”

Harry winces at the use of her full name, “Yes ma’am I do. One year behind Louis in age, but _decades_ ahead in intelligence and grace.” Louis laughs louder than anyone else at the table.

“And hotness,” one of Louis’ cousins, Mark, pipes up, “remember when Louis was in fourth grade and cut her hair like a fucking dyke, I didn’t think it’d ever grow—”

Louis can feel her face flame, can feel tears coming, starts to think of what to say, of anything to say, but nothing can come to mind except the echo of that word, over and over in her head, said out loud for everyone to hear, for _Harry_ to hear—

“Which is exactly what your last girlfriend said when you pressed the tip of the pencil in your shorts into her mouth and told her not to choke, _Mark_ , so in the future I suggest you watch your mouth before I watch it for you.” Harry interrupts him, flames in her eyes.

Mark opens his mouth to retort, but Louis’ grandmother surprises them all, “Normally, Harriet, I don’t condone language of that kind in my presence, but in this instance I’m inclined to agree. Marcus Jacob, apologize to your cousin, and then go see your mother and apologize to her as well, before I _tan_ your _hide_.” Her stern gaze is unwavering as Mark mumbles an apology, and then stumbles away from the table toward the mothers table across the yard.

Louis can feel a laugh bubbling in her throat as she watches her Aunt Mabel look from her son, over to the table they’re sitting at, and shakes her head at her son before she starts yelling at him, finger wagging and face turning red, as Mark crumples into a ball before her. Louis, her grandmother, and Harry all make eye-contact across the table, and the laughter that they break out in feels better than any of the graduation gifts Louis has piled up inside the house.

She looks over at Harry and can feel the joy in her eyes dim a little, knowing that this time is dwindling, and that soon everything will be different with so much time lost between them. Gram keeps talking, something about the future and joys of grandmother-hood or whatever, but Louis can only focus on Harry’s eyes, so fixed on her own.

Harry smiles and shrugs minutely as if to say, _who knows, but it’ll be ok, you know?_

Louis smiles back in response.

XXX

“Oh.” Louis huffs, out of breath, the word evaporating slowly into the silent, stagnant air.

“Oh?” Kat asks, snorting a little, “I just gave you the best head that has ever been had in the history of ever and all you can come up with is ‘Oh’?”

“Oh, I mean—fuck, no,” Louis stutters, “I don’t mean ‘Oh’ as in, like…oh, I meant it more like oh? Like—oh Jesus H. Christ. You know what I fucking meant.” She flops back on the sweaty sheets and throws an arm dramatically over her eyes.

“No,” Kat says, sounding a little less amused and a little more annoyed, “I actually do not know what you meant. Unlike you, Louis Tomlinson, I do not possess an unfiltered view into your own personal stream of consciousness. So, pray tell, what did you mean by ‘Oh’ as a response to the hour I just spent blowing you?”

 _Fuck._ That’s not what she wanted to do, she likes Kat, and has an invested interest in not hurting their feelings for many reasons, the sex that happened moments previously only being one of them. “I just…I don’t know. I thought I would feel different. After.” Louis says, trying to keep the anxiety she can feel creeping up her throat out of her voice.

Now Kat leans up on their elbow to look at Louis, “After what?”

Louis sits up too, pulling up her body to sit crunched in ball, back leaning on the headboard behind them. She takes a deep breath, and can’t meet Kat’s eye, “After I lost my virginity.”

Kat’s eyebrows shoot up, “Fuck, you’re a _virgin_?” Louis crunches into herself more, cheeks flaming, and nods stiffly, “Oh shit babe,” Kat murmurs, scooting up to copy Louis’ position, and slowly pull her into their lap. Louis goes easily, her body folding up in Kat’s arms and her head resting on Kat’s shoulder in a way that feels achingly familiar but also so _wrong_ and _alien_ that she can’t seem to get completely at ease. She feels fingers in her hair, she tries not to think about how short and strong and warm they feel, instead of long and willowy and just a little bit cold. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Louis shrugs, feeling tears and shame build up in the back of her throat, “Didn’t want you to treat it like it was…I don’t know, like special or something. I know it’s just sex,” she mumbles, words starting to run together in her haste to get them all out, “It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t even know why I waited this long,” she lies, feeling the wetness on her face before she feels her voice break, “Everyone says it’s much better to just to get it over with, and I just wanted to be _normal_ for once.”

“Oh, Lou,” Kat sighs, “I don’t know who this mystical ‘everyone’ is that told you different, but you _are_ normal. There’s no time-limit on losing your virginity. And yeah, sex or losing your virginity doesn’t _have_ to be special, but, darling, if you really felt that way…you wouldn’t be crying on my shoulder right now.”

Louis lets out a sob, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, _God,_ what a shitty fucking hook-up I turned out to be,” she tries to laugh a little, but it just comes out a pathetic sort of whimper. Louis attempts to crawl out of Kat’s lap and ask them to leave, just so she can scrape together the remaining dignity she has left, but Kat just tightens their hold around Louis’ shoulders, and continues playing with her hair.

“I lost my virginity when I was 15,” Kat says, their voice shaking just the littlest bit, “He was in the grade above me and on the football team, and I believed him when he said that I was pretty and interesting and that he liked me,” they pause, taking a deep breath before continuing, “so it hurt even worse when he started dating someone else. A prettier, nicer, more interesting someone else, and told me he wanted nothing to do with me.” Kat’s voice catches, “So after that, I decided that sex _didn’t_ matter. That I could fuck whoever, whenever, and it didn’t mean anything but having fun.” They sigh, and Louis can feel their shoulder shudder a bit under where her head rests, “I was miserable. I felt so insecure and uncomfortable and _sad_ all the time. Not because I was having too much sex, but because I was having it for the _wrong reason_. I wanted to prove to myself that he didn’t hurt my feelings by treating me like shit after we fucked, and I wanted to prove to _him_ that just because he made me losing my virginity such a shitty experience, it didn’t mean I wouldn’t want to keep having sex,” they pause, collecting their thoughts, “Once I let go of those feelings, and started to have sex only when I wanted to and when it felt right, not just when the opportunity presented itself, I was much happier. And I enjoyed it _a lot_ more.”

Kat reaches down and tips up Louis’ chin so their eyes can meet, “Louis,” they say seriously, “I like you. I think you’re funny, and hot, and an absolutely _wonderful_ hook-up. I would, possibly, like to hook-up with you again, if you’d like. But only if you admit to yourself, out loud, that there’s another reason besides ‘I just wanted to get it over with’ that you wanted to lose your virginity to me on this fine, autumn afternoon.”

Louis closes her eyes, and sits up and out of Kat’s arms. For a moment, she thinks about saying the words, asking Kat to leave, deleting their number and never speaking to them again, sitting in a different spot during the biology lecture they share so they wouldn’t have to speak, and moving on as if nothing happened. She thinks about losing the only friend she’s found since she set foot on this stupid fucking campus August, thinks about cutting off and cutting out the only person that doesn’t make her miss her best friend so much she can’t breathe sometimes. She thinks about it, but what comes out instead is, “I just wanted to know if sex with someone else would feel as good as it does when she smiles at me.”

“And?” Kat asks, their voice soft, and kind, as if they already know what the answer will be.

Louis rubs at her sore eyes, feeling snot dripping down the back of her throat in the most disgusting fucking way possible, _that’s what it feels like,_ she thinks, _it feels dirty, and foul, and wrong,_ she sniffles, scraping the back of her hand across her face, _it feels like betrayal, like I’m cheating on the only real thing that I’ve ever done. Lying about the only truth I’ve ever known._

“Not even close.” She mumbles, then she turns back to Kat, sobs into their shoulder, and let’s herself be held.

XXX

“So the library is that way, toward the north of campus, ‘boutta block up from our dorm.” Louis points in the general direction, using her other hand to shield her eyes from the sun. Walking beside her, Harry nods, seeming to absorb this information with the same intensity that she has everything Louis has shown her today on their tour of the University of Houston, Louis’ home for the past year and now Harry’s for the next four.

Louis can’t help the small amount of pride in her voice as she points out different buildings and structures that she thinks Harry should know about, she’s made a home here at UH; more of a home than Wayward Creek ever was, even without her favorite person in the world beside her. This year, that all changes. Louis can’t help the smile that rises to her face as she watches Harry, their shoulders mere inches apart, their hands swinging so close that Louis can almost feel the heat of her skin. She tenses her arm, reaching it up and away from Harry’s to scratch at her chin before tucking it in the pocket of her denim shorts, safely out of the way.

Part of her had hoped the time apart would make the feelings fade.

Because she does have feelings. Big, strong, gasping, burning feelings that make Louis shoot awake in the middle of the night, clutching at her chest to calm her racing heart. She’s grown enough now to admit it, at least to herself. The only thing that warred the strength of the feelings were their absolute, insurmountable, impossibility because Harry, bold and beautiful and vivacious and sweet and every other adjective in the whole world, was straight. Looked at boys the way that girls were supposed to. Had dated a few when they were younger. And who knows how many she had had falling all over her in their year apart, without Louis to take up so much of her time.

Because Louis knew that a lot could happen in a year, especially one’s senior year of high school. They’d promised to keep in touch, a phone call a night and as many text messages as they could manage with the shitty Wi-Fi in their tiny town, but Louis had never held Harry to it, told her she would completely understand if Harry was busy with her other friends back home. Harry had scoffed at her “What other friends would I want to talk to more than you, dumbass?” and they had talked every day, several times a day for both of her semesters, and spent every minute together when she was home on school breaks, and not once did Harry mention a single boy.

But. But.

They’re still here. Same place, still best friends, just a new zip code. Louis can feel herself unconsciously trying not to stare too much, or lean in too close, feeling like she’s walking on eggshells. Harry is a known social butterfly, and can charm the pants off of anyone who looks at her for more than two consecutive moments so Louis knows that she’ll make friends easily and very quickly. That’s originally why Louis pushed so hard for them not to share a dorm. She doesn’t want to be there, a remnant of Harry’s old life, collecting dust in the corner of her heart as Harry moves on to brighter, happier, easier people who would adore Harry the _right_ way, the way that ‘just friends’ were supposed to. But Harry had begged and pleaded and wheedled and how could weak, lovesick Louis Tomlinson ever stand a chance against a Harry Styles who wanted her? Where was the choice in that?

(There wasn’t one, really.)

They’ve seen everything on campus that Louis had deems important enough for Harry to see by the time that the sun begins to set, but Louis decides last minute on one more stop, “C’mon, let’s cross here.” She murmurs to Harry, looking left and right before crossing the street, heading up the hill to the Fine Arts building. By the time they reach it, the air is cooler, and lightning bugs are beginning to streak across the sky. A couple of boys are playing pick-up football on one of the fields below, a group of girls chatting on a blanket nearby occasionally hooting at them. Louis leads Harry past them, to the small area of coupled trees off to the side, where no students are sitting.

Once she can see them, Harry almost crows in excitement, “Hammocks? What are these here for?”

Louis shrugs, picking the closest one too her, a blue one that looks pretty clean, she tips it and smacks out the dirt and fallen leaves just to make sure before she sits, “The university paid to have them installed. Something about stress relief.” Harry snorts, and instead of picking any one of the five _unoccupied_ hammocks, climbs into the blue one with Louis. They sit side ways, their calves hanging out over the edge and the rest of their bodies cradled and shielded within.

Louis turns to look at Harry, but Harry is looking up, the faded pink watercolor-sky only showing in patches through the trees above them, the setting sun reflecting off the gold bits in her eyes.

Its rare moments like this when Louis feels at her most honest, something she hasn’t felt since she and Harry were children, and there was only one type of love that you could feel. She feels honest in the way that her eyes track Harry’s own, truthful in the way that her gaze drifts across Harry’s face, gentler than the breeze going by, candid in the way that her limbs burn to move just a little bit closer, straightforward in the way that Louis wants to press her lips to Harry’s.

Harry turns her head toward Louis, catching her staring, and meets her gaze unabashedly, the way that she always has. Harry can tell Louis wants to say something, and raises her eyebrow in silent invitation.

 _I love you. I’m **in** love with you. I’ve always been in love with you. _“I’m so glad you’re here.” She whispers, her voice barely letting her get the words out.

Harry half-smiles in that easy, gentle way that let’s Louis know that she knows there’s more she wants to say, even if she can’t say it, “Where else would I be?” she replies in a tone that one would use in a church, as if by the event that Harry and Louis breathed the same air there, in that hammock beneath the trees, the scattered dirt and leaves below them became holy ground.

Louis doesn’t have an answer, so she turns her head back to look at the sky, and slowly inches her hand to the left, fully expecting Harry to move her hand out of the way. She doesn’t, allowing the sides of their hands to brush, and rest ever so gently against each other, as intimate as a kiss.

Louis closes her eyes and breathes this moment, sweeter than syrup, in.

XXX

Louis doesn’t know what the _fuck_ to do.

She lost track of Jenn and Heather the minute they walked down the steps leading to Tri-Delta’s basement, which is pretty standard as nights-out go, and she, Harry, and Kat had been slowly making their way toward the keg so that Kat could pull their usual sweet-talking on the frat boy guarding it to give them some of the tequila-filled jello shots Louis knows are always upstairs in the fridge.

When they had secured them, Louis showed Harry how to pop them, with quick swirls of her finger before tossing them back. Kat had snorted a little when Harry had cringed at the taste, “No worries babes,” they had shouted over the music, “Not all of us can be Ten-Shot-Tommo!” Kat bumped their hip against Louis’ and laughed, and Louis had laughed with them, tossing an arm around their shoulders and leaning into their neck as she did. Louis swayed a little, already starting to feel the alcohol three shots in, “That was a lapse in judgement! You’re slandering me in front of my best—” Louis turned to Harry, ready to tell her the story, only to find her moving away, heading back towards the keg. She made too follow but stopped when she felt Kat’s hand on her arm, “She’s probably just getting a beer!” Kat yelled in her ear, “Let’s dance! She’ll find us!” and Louis contemplated for a minute, then shrugged. Harry wouldn’t have wandered unless she felt like she could make her way back on her own, and anyway, Louis _did_ want to dance with Kat.

So they had danced. And then they stopped for shots, danced some more, got some beer, met up with Jenn and Heather, danced again, talked to some of the brothers, said goodbye to Jill and Heather as they headed off with their respective boyfriends, most likely to hook-up, and before Louis knew it, she looked at her phone and more than an hour had gone by and Harry hadn’t come back.

It feels like someone pours cold water down her spine, _where is she_ , _fuck, fuck, how could I have ditched her?_ She grabs Kat, who was talking to one of the party’s hosts, and leans in to talk in their ear, “You seen Harry? It’s been a while since she went to grab beer,” she strains to be heard over the bass pounding out of the speakers. Kat shrugs, “Maybe she fucked off home, or met up with someone,” at the stricken look on Louis’ face they amend their statement, “I’m sure she’s fine though!” Louis must look terrified, because Kat snaps into action, “We’ll look! We’ll find her, maybe she tried to fight her way to the washroom, Lou, you know what a line there is at the washroom during sylly week.” They turn to the party’s host, “Can you send out a mass text to the sober brothers, ask if anyone has seen a tall, skinny girl with long brown hair and green eyes, wearing a low-cut, black, romper and fishnets?” The frat guy nods and immediately whips out his phone, typing Kat’s message as they keep talking, “Lou and I are gonna go take a lap, look for her. If one of the boys finds her first, text me,” they order, waving their phone at the frat boy, “Cool?” the guy nods again, and mutters something about going to look too, Louis doesn’t hear it over the guilt buzzing in her ears.

She had ditched her. Ditched her _best friend_ at her first college party, without even a thought that she might be nervous or uncomfortable, and now she might be sick somewhere, or lost, or God-forbid….Louis doesn’t even want to think about it. Numb and tripping over the uneven concrete floor she follows Kat around the perimeter of the backed frat basement, tapping the shoulder of every brunette wearing black in the hope that they might be Harry for a full twenty minutes before Kat’s phone buzzes, “She’s outside with Cole and the stoners—” Kat doesn’t even finish reading before Louis is fighting to get to the back door, shoving anyone who gets in her way and then stumbling out into the backyard. She heads up to the outside patio, around the back of the house, relief thundering in her veins when she spots Harry sitting on the ground in a loose circle other party-goers on the stone floor.

When she reaches her she can’t help dropping to her knees throwing her arms around Harry and squeezing her tightly. Harry backs away at first, but then when she realizes it’s Louis she crows with happiness, “Guys!!” she shouts in Louis’ ear, although she must be talking to the gathered stoners, all of whom are paying more attention to the bowl they’re passing around than to the girl in her arms, “I told you she’d come!!” She leans back from their hug, and smiles at Louis like she’s her favorite person in the whole world, irises rimmed with red like she’s been crying. Louis smiles back, full of apologies, “Yeah, I came, H. I’m sorry I lost you in the crowds, I should have gone with you to—” Harry laughs her loud, honky laugh, her eyes shutting and nose crinkling like she only does when Louis tells her a joke, and when her eyes open Louis can see the hazy, glazed-over look in them, and puts it together. _She’s high._

Harry smiles at her again, dopey and soft, and starts playing with the messy, falling-out curls that Louis had done hours before, “I told them you would come find me, like you always do. I was so sad waiting for you.” She pouts, dry lipstick remnants cracking on her lip as she sticks it out, “But you’re here now! So I’m not sad anymore.”

She flops forward in an attempt at a hug, and Louis catches her against her shoulder as best she can. “What did she take?” she asks the person sitting closest in the circle to Harry. They shrug, “All I saw her do was a hit or two off our bowl, and the weed in it is mine so I can tell you personally it’s nothing bad.” They smile as Harry starts to nuzzle her face into Louis’ neck, “She’s a sweetheart. Offered to pay for the hits she took and everything, not your typical freshman.” The stranger shakes their head again, “Y’all make a cute couple,” they say with a wink, to Louis’ complete mortification, “It’s nice to see more couples like y’all out in the open, it’s good to see change.”

The stranger nods again and turns back to their friends, but Louis, mouth agape like a fish, still starts to stutter out something that sounds sort of like, _no, you’ve got it wrong, we’re just friends,_ when she feels Harry pull herself to sitting up, cup Louis’ cheek in her hand, and pull her face in until they’re only a breath’s width apart.

Harry’s eyes are so close, and they’re all Louis can see. Greener than moss in the creek that runs through the woods that they used to play in, with flecks of gold and brown like a chicken egg, framed with fake lashes Louis had watched her glue on when they were getting ready. Her hair is a mess, all lank, sweaty waves from being crushed up against people in the basement, and she smells like a mix of weed, sweat, and roses. Always roses. “Lou?” Harry whispers, Louis can feel her breath on her chin, “Lou, do you—”

Like gravity, their mouths meet, clumsily, quickly, just a shy peck of the lips, like a spark hopping across green wood looking for a place to catch, and then they meet again, purposefully this time, and Louis can feel her whole body set to flame.

There’s various hoots and hollers going around from the scattered peanut gallery, but they all seem to fade into the background the longer Louis kisses Harry, because Louis _is_ kissing Harry, sharing breath, feeling Harry’s hand move from her cheek to wind itself in her hair, opening her mouth so that Harry can lick inside, and Louis can barely stifle the sigh that rises from her almost involuntarily.

“I guess you found her then.”

Harry breaks away from her at the sound of Kat’s voice, and Louis does her best to look sheepish and apologetic when she turns to face Kat, who looks like they’re trying to be annoyed and failing miserably.

Louis laughs, awkwardly, and turns back to Harry, who doesn’t look as out of it as she did a few moments ago, but is still smiling at Louis like she’s her favorite person in the whole world. Louis can relate. “Yeah,” Louis says pulling herself and then Harry to their feet, “I found her.” she turns back to Kat, “You mind if we head out early? H is kinda tired.”

Kat smiles, softly, gently, knowingly, “No worries. Bret was so helpful finding our Ms. Waldo here I figured I’d reward him with the thing he wants most in this world,” they wink, “me.” They breeze past Louis and pull a very surprised Harry into a hug. When Kat lets go they lean in to hug Louis next, whispering in her ear, “Worth the wait?”

Louis breathes a laugh, “You have no idea.”

It takes _far_ too long to get back to their dorm.

The Uber ride is tense, the air charged with the lack of contact between them, and Louis hopes that Harry can’t see the way her hands are shaking. The next half hour is a blur, the car stopping and the driver wishing them good night, badging into the building and climbing the steps to their hallway, and walking down it to reach their door feels like a dream. Louis doesn’t even remember which one of them pulls out their keys to open the door.

Neither Harry nor Louis look at each other, standing in their living room still dressed in the clothes they had donned hours before, now sweaty and covered in grass stains thanks to the moments they spent tangled up on the ground with approximately half of UH’s Greek life looking on and _Jesus fucking Christ,_ Louis thinks, _did they really kiss for the first time with all those people watching? At a fucking frat party while Harry was high as a kite? Did they really—_

And then Louis is being pulled forward into Harry’s embrace, and their mouths meet again in the middle, all of Louis thoughts flying right out of her head beyond the feeling of Harry’s hot, damp body pressed against her own. She doesn’t know for how long they kiss, standing in the doorway where anyone could walk by and see them, and for once, Louis finds that she doesn’t really care.

“You think too much.” Harry murmurs when they pull apart, her lips pink and plump as they form the words; Louis finds it difficult to look away. “Of course I do. Someone has to do the thinking between the two of us,” Louis replies, softly.

Harry laughs, a small breathless chuckle, and presses her forehead to Louis’ own. Louis can feel her eyes close and they stand there for a few moments more, swaying softly with the last twinges of alcohol and weed lingering in their bodies, but when Louis leans back and meets Harry’s gaze, her eyes are clear as they lock with hers. Louis brushes a hand across Harry’s cheek softly, trying to cushion the sharpness of her words, “We have to talk.”

Harry catches her hand on its path down, cups it and brings it to her lips for a sweet kiss, “Tomorrow.” She says, reeling Louis back in for another kiss, quick and easy. Louis falls in for a second before she pulls away, and cups Harry’s face in her hands, “No. We have to talk.”

Harry huffs, annoyance and the smell of smoke on her breath, “I didn’t say we’re not going to talk. We can talk tomorrow.” She goes to lean in again and Louis purposefully takes a step back, out of Harry’s arms and into the air. “We should talk now. We’re not gonna solve anything if we don’t talk.”

Harry laughs, exasperated, her eyes practically bulging out of her head, “ _Solve_? What’s to solve? What, between us, has ever fucking needed _solving_?” she turns her back on Louis, leaning down to unbuckle her heels and kick them across the room with a grunt, muttering curses under her breath as she rubs at the red marks on her feet.

When she turns her gaze back on Louis, gone is the tenderness in her eyes, instead all Louis can see is fire, “This,” Harry emphasizes, gesturing between them, “Doesn’t need _solving._ You and I aren’t a fucking puzzle, and if we were, it would be two pieces and we would fit on the first fucking try. Because you—you,” she huffs out a breath and pushes her sweaty curls out of her face roughly, the same way she used to when they would be outside for too long and she was too stubborn to tie her hair up. Louis has to fight the urge to offer her a hair tie. “You just get in your head too much, I can see it all over your face,” Harry continues, words jumbling as they fall from her lips, too-quickly, as if she thinks Louis is going to interrupt her, “You think about what your parents want from you, and the way everyone else will react and fucking societal norms or whatever, and you forget. You _forget_ that this, that _us_ ,” Harry’s voice breaks, “That you and me makes _sense_. You forget that I’ve wanted you, loved you, for every single day of my whole goddamn life,” Louis can feel tears in her eyes, but Harry doesn’t stop, even when she starts crying too, “And I _know_ that you love me too, I can _feel_ it, I can _see_ it in your eyes, even if you can’t say it, and for me that’s fucking enough. Everything else can come later,” she laughs again, her voice clouded with tears, “or not at all! Because if I have you, that’s enough.”

She takes a steadying breath, and the smile on her face is the sun breaking through the clouds, the first light of dawn shining into the promise of a new day, and Louis can feel it’s warmth in the very recesses of her being. “You’re enough for me, Louis, exactly the way you are.” Harry finishes, and Louis can’t keep her body still anymore, can’t deal with the air between their skin. Louis falls into Harry’s arms and tucks her head under Harry’s chin, the gentleness and security of the feeling almost taking her breath away. She feels Harry’s arms come up and around the cradle her and Louis has to hold back a shudder of relief.

The tension in the air fizzles out slowly into warmth, so Louis doesn’t feel uncomfortable to break the silence, “Well then.” She murmurs, “I only have one question for you.” Louis can feel Harry’s breath moving her hair, “And what might that be?”

“Your bed, or mine?”

Harry thinks about it for a second.

“Why don’t we put them together?”

Louis thinks it's the best idea Harry's ever had. She almost tells her so, but then Harry leans in and presses their mouths together, her tongue sweeping into Louis' mouth immediately, savoring the taste of her. 

_Well,_ Louis thinks, _maybe her second best idea._

**Author's Note:**

> Read more of my terrible 1D fic; [darling, i'll take care of you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12287082)
> 
> Pay attention to me on my terrible 1D/lesbian worship/catasrophe of a [tumblr](https://louly23.tumblr.com)


End file.
